Thank you to anyone who reviewed, favorited, or alerted! Here's the new one, which is pretty much complete fluff, and I don't do fluff. Yet stories of childhood kind of call for it sometimes, you know? Let me know what you think!

I Don't Hit Girls

Arthur Pendragon, prince of Camelot, liked nothing better than to practice sword fighting. He would make a trip to the courtyard almost every day to pick up one of the practice swords (he was only allowed the use of a real one under careful supervision) and battle with an invisible enemy, using the moves he learned from his weapon's trainer.

Morgana, ward of King Uther and surrogate sister to Arthur, liked nothing better than to watch the prince from her chamber window, longingly wishing to go out and join him.

So, one day, she did.

Arthur was too wholly concentrated on his opponent to notice Morgana at first. He seemed to be fighting an entire army from the way he lunged from side to side, attacking a broad range of empty space that couldn't possibly belong to one single person, imaginary or not. Morgana had to stifle giggle when he started shouting orders like he was leading a real battle. That was when Arthur noticed her.

"Morgana!" Arthur nearly dropped his sword in horror. "What are you doing? You're not supposed to be here, you're a girl!"

That was the attitude of many in Camelot, including, unfortunately, the king himself. Morgana knew better than to express her desires to learn how to fight to the other Ladies - they would chastise her and tell her it was not proper to consider such things. She had hoped Arthur, of all people, would understand.

Yet she hadn't even explained what she wanted to do, and already he was accusing her of stepping outside her station.

What was there to lose? "I want to practice with you," she informed him simply, raising her chin in defiance and placing her hands firmly on her hips.

Arthur snorted. "Yeah, right. Like I'm going to let you use a sword. Father would kill me if he found out! Besides, you're not strong enough. All you do all day is brush your hair and giggle whatever else it is girls do."

Morgana drew herself up haughtily. "For your information, Arthur Pendragon, I am as perfectly capable of lifting a fake sword as you are, if not more so! And in case you've forgotten, I spend more time with you than the other noble girls, anyway."

"You're still a girl," said Arthur, like that simple truth justified his pigheadedness. "I couldn't fight you if I wanted, which I don't. I don't hit girls."

"Oh, really?" Morgana said snarkily. She darted an arm out, wrapped a slender, pale hand around the wooden hilt of a practice sword, and brought it slashing down toward Arthur's head.

Instinctively, Arthur swung his own sword upward to parry the blow. The world disappeared around him; all he knew was the swinging and clashing of weapons, the cries of battle, and the rush of adrenaline in his veins. He even managed to forget who he was fighting.

He carried on tirelessly, glad for once to have a real opponent, one who could fight back. His enemy was faceless, just a threat he had to remove at all costs.

Everything was going great. He was dealing blow after blow, blocking everything dealt toward him, and he was on top of the world, enjoying every moment of it, untouchable, until-

In a graceful arc, his sword was torn out of his hand and flew through the air.

Dumbfounded, Arthur gaped open-mouthed at his opponent, only now remembering who it was.

Morgana was smirking.

"Your concern was touching," she remarked airily, "but really, I think it was a tad misplaced."

"I - that was," Arthur spluttered, "I don't hit girls! I was going soft on you. I let you win."

"Defensive, aren't we?" Morgana purred. "You didn't seem soft to me. In fact, I've been watching you fight for a long time, and I'd say you put more effort into this than ever before. You seemed a bit strained, really."

Arthur scowled, but did not reply.

Morgana quirked another smirking look in his direction. "Perhaps you'd like a chance to redeem yourself," she suggested innocently.

Arthur's pride was quickly winning out on his sense of honor and chivalry. "All right, but this time I'll fight for real. I'm warning you, you've got no chance." He gripped the hilt tighter and swung with all his might. Morgana, fully expecting the blow, blocked it easily.

Within minutes, Arthur was back in losing position. There was no denying that he was trying his utmost to defeat Morgana, but she was quick, and much stronger than he had anticipated, considering her deceptively thin frame.

Just when Morgana made a move to disarm him, the fight was interrupted. However, Arthur would have gladly taken the loss and accompanying wounded ego a thousand times over if it meant he could have avoided the consequences of this, because when Morgana froze mid-strike, it was because she saw Uther striding their way out of the corner of her eye, a furious expression twisting his face grotesquely.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded sharply, coming to an abrupt halt in between them and looking from one to the other. Arthur dropped his gaze to his feet; Morgana met his eyes with fiery determination.

"I wished to practice my sword skills, my lord," Morgana told him, very straightforward and proud, as always. Arthur looked up briefly to gape at her. How could she address the king this way?

Uther was outraged. "And why in God's name would you ever need sword skills? You are a lady in the royal household, there's no possible reason you would ever need to fight."

"I think women should be allowed to fight as well."

Her words were like a winter breeze; they chilled the air as soon as they left her mouth and instigated a frosty silence. Arthur hung his head again. He couldn't see his father leaving this incident unpunished.

"As long as I have breath in my body," Uther ground out stiffly, "women will never be made to fight. Now you will return to the castle at once and forget these silly games."

The king swept away, leaving Arthur and Morgana to interpret the veiled threat for themselves.

"You should probably go back," Arthur said after a while.

"I'm not scared of Uther," Morgana declared boldly. Ten years old, and already she was braver than most of the knights in Camelot, and at least as stubborn as the king himself. Looking at her, Arthur couldn't help but think that she would make a formidable warrior.

However, he knew the code of chivalry, and it would be wrong for a woman, especially one of (though he didn't think of her this way) Lady Morgana's rank.

Determined though he knew she was, Arthur also knew that she could and would never be allowed to fight.

"I know you're not," he said, swinging his sword upward with a fancy flick of his wrist. "Come on; one more round, and then back to your room before my father comes after us again."

Morgana's smile started small, then grew.

"I bet I'll beat you again."